The Case of the Crippling Love
by JohnWatson-Holmes
Summary: Sherlock's voice was beginning to waver, small cracks forming in his words. He swiftly walked back over to the couch and dropped to his knees before the doctor, resting his face front first onto John's thighs. "You have crippled me."


"Sherlock, you need to stop with-holding evidence from Lestrade." John scolded the detective as said detective rushed about the flat, searching for his phone. The look on John's face showed frustration, even anger.

"It is not with-holding evidence if I am only keeping it because he is just going to destroy the case." Sherlock countered back, not once glancing in John's direction.

"Well then you have to at least let him know that you have the evidence." John said, throwing his arms up into the air in defeat. Sherlock was beginning to push his very last buttons. He had already had a rough day at work, and now Sherlock was just going to go running off again.

"Nonsense. I'd solve these cases approximately 10.5% faster if it was not for the police's interference." Sherlock said, pausing to ponder for a moment whatever it was that he was thinking. John sighed and picked up the dirty mugs from when they had tear earlier.

"Yes, yes. That is true. But it causes trouble when you do keep things hidden from them." John spoke from the kitchen, his voice carrying out to Sherlock. An edge laced his words, and as the cups were set in the sink John ran a hand down his face to try and calm himself.

"It wouldn't cause any trouble if they'd simply accept their place in the world." Sherlock shouted back, voice sounding arrogant. Sherlock could never be wrong, he would never admit to being wrong. In his own mind, he was always correct.

"All right, all right. I get it. So. I'm off to go read. Message me if you need anything." John muttered as he stalked past Sherlock to go up into his own bedroom. He knew Sherlock had a case to get to.

"Well then." Sherlock bit out as a response, turning away to leave. He managed to grab his coat before stopping. "Wait. ... You're mad, aren't you?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. I am." John scowled with his back turned to Sherlock, stopping his ascent up the stairs.

"Why?" Sherlock's voice set John into motion. Spinning around he glared at the consulting detective.

"Because you're… you." John all but growled, "You don't consider other people's reactions and don't care about their emotions. You have a romantic partner who generally would like to spend time with you, but you're always to busy sulking or running off and leaving him behind. It's not that I'm completely mad at you, I'm more frustrated than anything else right now." John ranted, glaring eyes still poised on Sherlock's form.

"Oh." was all Sherlock could manage to say, his eyes widened only a fraction to take in the sight of John actually yelling at him.

"I really don't mean to be taking it out on you." John sighed, limping ever so slightly down the stairs to face Sherlock.

Sherlock's shoulders lowed into a slight hunch, the excitement of the case rushing out of his body. Trudging over to the door, he placed his coat back onto the coat hook before walking past John and to the couch. "No. No, that's… quite alright." he whispered before making his customary sulking pose on the couch. He curled up into a ball and faced the back of the couch.

John sighed, knowing he had been wrong to snap at Sherlock. "Sherlock, tell me what you're thinking." John inquired, walking over to where Sherlock lay.

"I… I am not sure, exactly." Sherlock spoke softly, staring at the hideous pattern decorating the plush cushions.

"Can you try to explain?" John questioned softly, sitting near Sherlock's feet on the far end of the couch. "Or can you not express it in words…?"

"I… like you. I… like this." Sherlock whispered, leaning forward to kiss John, hand traveling up the ex-army man's shoulder. He leaned back slightly. "But emotions, John, aren't my area of interest. And relationships aren't a part of my case study."

"That is… alright Sherlock." John leaned forward so that their foreheads remained touching. "I understand that. But would it kill you to take even five minutes out of your day to spend with me, alone? Just being together with each other? I am fine with you being who you are. Really. That is the Sherlock I have fallen in love with. It just gets to be too much sometimes, and I should know better then to go off and dump it all on you." John apologized.

"It is… I… I…" Sherlock was at a loss for words and quickly looked away towards the front door. "I have a case. I should go."

"Sherlock." John's emotionally strained voice bore into Sherlock's head like a pick through ice. Reaching a tanned hand forward, John steered Sherlock's chin towards him so he was looking in the detective's eyes. "Say whatever it is that is on your mind. Now. Please." John begged.

"I CAN'T!" Sherlock shouted, standing abruptly, stalking towards the window in long strides. "I can't tell you what's on my mind because I do not KNOW! You've crippled me, Watson. I thought I could say anything to anyone before you, and now I can barely speak in your presence." Sherlock's voice was beginning to waver, small cracks forming in his words. He swiftly walked back over to the couch and dropped to his knees before the doctor, resting his face front first onto John's thighs. "You have crippled me."

"Sherlock." John's heart broke at the sight before him, and he tugged the detective up to give him a hug around the shoulders. Sherlock's face rested against John's lower belly as said man hunched over from the embrace. "It is okay. You are not crippled. Not in the slightest. You are feeling emotions. You are not used to this, and I should not push it. It's all right. I'm here. You're fine. You're more then fine. You're perfect. No matter how you feel. If anyone is crippled, it's me" John soothed, speaking down to Sherlock in a voice nearly as broken as the detective's own.

"No." Sherlock's face was ablaze with emotion. Pulling away from the embrace he placed one hand on John's shoulder, the other on his leg - the old war wounds. "Never, John. You have never been crippled." Sherlock's voice still sounds broken, yet determined.

"Yes I have Sherlock. I've been shot. You've seen the scars. You've seen the limp. The cane." John answered back remorsefully. "What more could I be?"

"Never crippled John." Sherlock took his hand from John's leg to capture his jaw, stretching up to kiss him.

"Sherlock…" John whispered out, meeting Sherlock half way and capturing his lips.

Sherlock pulled back. "Say it John." His hands remained where they were on John. "Say it."

"Say what… Sherlock?" John watched Sherlock's eyes, searching for every emotion he could find. Hand aching for something to touch, he placed them over Sherlock's own hands.

"You are not a cripple, John." Sherlock's grip tightened under John's hands. "Say it."

John couldn't stop the tears from pricking at his eyes, blurring his vision ever so slightly. "I… I'm not…. I'm not crippled." he mumbled quietly, but loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

"No. No you are not." Sherlock leaned in for another kiss, not pulling back to speak this time.

John moved his hands and laced his fingers together at the back of Sherlock's neck, leaving their lips together for mere seconds before pulling away a fraction. "Now… can you say something for me?" Their gazes met. "Please?"

Sherlock got up a bit higher, not yet standing though not sitting. He was partially straddling John's leg when he leaned his mouth nearer to the blonde's ear. "What?" he husked, warm breath sending tingles down John's spine.

John's hands slid down to Sherlock's hips, pulling him in closer and reveling in the heat of his body. "You should know... just three simple words followed by my name…" John spoke clearly, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

Sherlock laced his fingers through John's hair, brushing his lips across the shell of his ear. "Well, that leaves a multitude of answers. Where's the cat, John, How's the patient, John," Sherlock's hand snuck downward, "and What is this, John?" Sherlock smiled sharply as John let out a gasp.

John exhaled the breath he was holding, wanting more of Sherlock's touch, but needing him to say what he wanted first. "Must I say it first?" John smiled widely, hands groping down Sherlock's hips and lower.

Sherlock leaned back in to bit at John's ear, pausing to whisper, "I love you John."

John could not contain the shudder that followed, nor deny that fact that goose bumps rose across his skin. He arched up into Sherlock, letting out a soft noise between another sigh and a moan. Gripping Sherlock harder against him, he struggled to form a coherent sentence. "You have no idea how long I have wanted you to say that, Sherlock."

Sherlock's mouth went southward to nibble at John's neck. "Love you." he breathed out against the kiss moistened skin. He slid his hand on John's shoulder down to the hem of his black and white striped jumper, pulling it up slowly.

John started to undo the buttons on Sherlock's purple shirt, the one John secretly loved with a passion. "Love you more." John gasped out as he pulled away to slip his jumper off completely. Leaving his torso and scar open to Sherlock's scrutinizing eyes.

Sherlock placed his hand on the flat, slightly toned part of John's stomach. He shifted his position to a more comfortable one on John's leg. "Categorically impossible. My dear Watson."

"Just call me John… please." John forced out, a flush dusting his cheeks. The need to be touched, cuddled, and love shown in his deep brown eyes. "I don't care so long as you love me."

"Of course... John." Sherlock grinned, pushing himself forward far enough to capture John's lips in a more demanding kiss.

John pulled away before it became too much for him. "You have a case…" John let a small frown grace his lips. "I don't want you to go. But you have to…"

Sherlock pulled reluctantly away to shift away from John. Looking away, Sherlock collects himself by taking in a few deep breaths. When he calmed, he met John's eyes again. "I do." He checked the time on his phone, "and I need to be there. But I need my doctor there. Come with?"

"You don't even need to ask me that." John smiled and stood up, placing his jumper back on and straightening it. He quickly grabbed both his own and Sherlock's coats. "You'd be lost without your blogger." John quoted with another beaming smile.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and leaned in to kiss John again. "I would indeed, Watson. Now come along, John. The game's afoot!" Sherlock's excitement returned ten fold.

John let Sherlock kiss him one more time. "All right, all right. Let's go before Lestrade throws a fit."

"Well, on that hand…"*Sherlock playfully took a step away from the door. He looked down to catch John's eyes and grinned wolfishly. "No, let's go. We're late enough already. He should be already steaming at the ears."

John could not help but laugh. "Can't wait to see that." He then smiled, turning his gaze away and shyly reached for Sherlock's hand, taking it into his own.

Sherlock grabbed it and drags him haphazardly down the stairs. "Come along John! The game!"

"I know, Sherlock! Slow down a little. At least let me know what the case is about while we're on our way there." John voiced, letting himself be pulled by Sherlock.

"Pshah! It takes away the thrill. Besides, what's the fun in knowing about the case." Sherlock and John had reached the bottom of the stairs where Sherlock opend the door and pulled John out to the waiting cab.

"You already have a cab? Sherlock Holmes, always way ahead of everyone else." John did not stop smiling. "Judging by your eagerness, I'm going to assume that it is another murder case, right?" he questioned.

"Of course! When isn't it? I tell you, John, we've got skeletons positively coming out of the woodwork these days. I blame video games. Thank God for them!" Sherlock exclaimed.

John remembered something and let out another chuckle. "So you're blaming video games but you're also thanking god for them? See, my zombie game may be important after all." John stated.

Sherlock paused before the opening cab door to drag John in for a kiss. "Ah, but you're already so refreshingly violent. You don't need to change." He ducked into the cab, pulling John behind him.

John flushed deeply. "Only violent when you're in danger…" he mumbled, getting tugged into cab, puling door closed behind him.

"Well then." Sherlock replied, leaning forward to speak to the cab driver. "Westfield Avenue, Croydon. Quickly, now."

John relaxed back into car seat. "So, what excuse are we going to tell Lestrade for why we're late?"

Sherlock leaned back into his seat next to John. "Really, I don't see why we have to tell him much of anything at all."

"You know that he is going to ask though. Maybe... we could just tell him the truth? Seeing as no one really know about you and I yet…" John adverted eyes, watching out the window as the buildings went by. "If you're okay with that, that is…"

Sherlock weighed the advantages between irritating Lestrade and making John happy. "I suppose." Then, speaking diffidently. "If you want."

"I'd like that. Plus, it'd be pretty great to see the look on Anderson's and Donovan's faces." John said, lacing his fingers back together with Sherlock's from where they separated.

"Oh." Sherlock laughed, long and low in hi chest. "Oh, I have an idea."

John chuckled again. "Hm… I don't think I've ever told you this, but I love the sound of your laugh."

Sherlock leaned in to bite playfully at John's neck. "I shall contrive to laugh more often, then."

John pushed Sherlock away, playfully giggling. "Quit that, it tickles!"

Sherlock grabbed at John's other hand. He nibbled a few more times before pulling back, breathless. "And I love your giggle. Because it's a giggle, John. Not a chuckle."

John just giggled more, kissing Sherlock upon the nose. "Well if you keep doing that, then you're going to hear it from me a lot." John smiled again, leaning his head down to rest it on Sherlock's shoulder. "Love you." he cooed out, feeling all the exhaustion in his limbs weigh him down.

"Love you, too." Sherlock said, kissing the top of John's head. He knew it would be at least 50 minutes to their destination. Even longer if the traffic was bad. So he let John rest there, dozing in and out of consciousness. As he watched the rise and fall of John's chest, he let himself slip into a reverie.

Just before losing himself to his rampaging thoughts, Sherlock thought the perfect name for his ongoing case involving John. "_The Case of Crippling Love._" he thought smoothly, smiling as John mumbled his name in his sleep.


End file.
